


April Fools

by DaisyFairy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, April Fools, Blood, Established Relationship, It's a prank, John doesn't take it well, M/M, No real suicide, Sherlock Being an Idiot, Sherlock Challenge, Sort of happy ending, Suicide, prank gone wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 09:56:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10637490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaisyFairy/pseuds/DaisyFairy
Summary: Written for the Sherlock Challenge April prompt: April Fools Day.Sherlock attempts an April Fools joke on his boyfriend, he really didn't think it through.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to have text messages in bold but AO3 had other ideas so all text messages are enclosed by *stars*.

John wakes up alone in the bed he shares with Sherlock and allows himself a melancholy moment of lament for the lazy morning sex he had been hoping for. He gets out of bed and shivers as he wraps his robe around himself and pulls his slippers on against the chilly floor. He decides on a quick trip to the bathroom and then he will go to see what his boyfriend is up to, he smiles gently in anticipation.

The second John opens the bathroom door the bottom drops out of his universe. His breath catches in his chest and his knees feel weak, bile rises in his throat and a desperate whimper escapes. In front of him is a scene from his deepest nightmares. Sherlock is lying in the bath covered in blood, his normally pale skin is almost blue, his head is tilted back at a slightly unnatural angle and his eyes are closed. He is wearing only his pants and the scarlet streaks over his skin cause John physical pain deep in his bones. The air is thick with the scent of blood, the smell of battlefields and emergency surgeries. The tears in his eyes turn to a flood when he sees the source of the blood, slashes across Sherlock’s wrists and a razor blade on the side of the tub next to a smeared red handprint. He steps closer, there is too much blood, he can see it pooled in the bottom of the bath and soaked into the fabric of his lovers underwear. He reaches out a trembling hand towards the pulse point in Sherlock’s throat. He anticipates the stillness, the cold clammy flesh that he will encounter and steels himself to close the final millimetre.

John's fingers make contact and suddenly he screams as he finds himself engulfed in a hug with Sherlock guffawing loudly into his shoulder. John pulls away and lands on his backside then scrambles away until he hits the wall. He stares up at Sherlock’s face peering down at him over the side of the bath, his chest heaves, his brain totally unable to process what is going on.

Sherlock has a large smile on the face and is still giggling as he declares “April Fools. I got you John.”

John closes his eyes, controls his breathing and then stands up. His jaw sets and his hand clenches by his side. He spares a glance down at his robe which is now covered in blood and then his eyes flick back up to glare at his boyfriend.

“What the buggering hell was that? What the fuck did you think you were doing?” He starts quietly but by the end is screaming through a renewed flood of tears.

Sherlock’s smile falters and then fades as he realises how angry John is. “It’s April Fools day. Aren’t you supposed to do pranks on April Fools day?” he asks timidly.

“Fuck you.” John spits out before storming into the bedroom. He drops the ruined robe onto the floor and grabs the clothes he wore the previous day from the top of the hamper, he pulls them on quickly and goes out into the hallway to find his shoes. Just as he is pulling them on the bathroom door swings open and Sherlock peeks nervously around it.

“John?” Sherlock looks lost standing in only a towel around his waist. A hasty wash has left him with a few streaks of blood on his chest, his normal skin colour is still smeared here and there with pale body paint, and John notices strips of latex hanging off of his wrists.

“I need to go out before I say something I regret.” John says shrugging on his jacket.

“It was meant to be a joke.” Sherlock’s voice sounds so small.

John sighs and pulls the front door open, he replies with a tone far calmer than the turmoil inside “I know.”

When the cold air outside hits him he freezes for a moment unsure what to do now. A brief inventory shows that fortunately he has keys, wallet and phone all in his jacket from last night when he had been far to eager to get his boyfriend to bed to worry about emptying his pockets. The chilled wind stings his eyes and the skin on his cheeks where they are still wet from his tears. He takes a shuddering breath and feeling the tingle of eyes on him looks up at the flat windows to see Sherlock looking miserably down at him. He turns away quickly, he is really not in the mood to deal with the infuriating man right now. A brief nod to himself and he sets off walking, no plan, just away, away from the nightmare.

\----  
An hour later he is in the park when his phone beeps in his pocket. He considers ignoring it but the image of Sherlock lying dead makes it impossible, what if...? No! It wasn't real, but it nags, he needs to check the message. Before he reaches his messages a “Low Battery” warning flashes up on the screen, but he clicks through it to check his texts. It is from Sherlock.

*I’m sorry.*

*Do you know what you have done to me?* John replies.

There is a pause before Sherlock answers, then the phone beeps.

*No.*

He is glad that Sherlock has not made excuses or attempts to guess the effect he has had on him. Any of that would only have made John angrier. He sits on a bench to compose his next message.

*I still have nightmares, about you jumping. Not so often now, and when I wake up in our bed it all goes away quickly. The worst part was not you dying but thinking that you had chosen it, you had looked at your life and decided that nothing in it, including me, was worth staying for. This morning you took me right back to that, but even worse this time, because now I have given you everything I have to give, every part of me, and you made me believe that even that wasn't enough to keep you with me.*

He sends the message then after a moments thought sends another.

*I’ll be having nightmares about this for months, maybe years. How could you do that to me?*

*I thought it would be a joke, I didn’t think it through.*

John huffs.

*For a genius you really are an idiot.*

*That’s why I have you, to help me with all of the messy interpersonal stuff.*

*Is that the only reason you keep me around?* John asks only half joking.

*There is also your enormous cock, that is definitely a plus point.*

John laughs despite himself and before he can reply another text arrives.

*Also something to do with me being hopelessly in love with you, but that can't be right because that sounds far too sentimental.*

John doesn't  know how to respond to that message right now, he looks at it until the phone beeps with another message from Sherlock.

*Please come home.*

John shakes his head

*I can’t right now, I can’t bear to be there.*

*Can I meet you then? I’ll buy you brunch.*

He shakes his head again, wipes the dampness from his eyes and sniffs.

*No. I can't see you now.*

*I’ll see you later?*

John stares at his phone, he doesn't know how to move past this. Sherlock didn’t mean it, he knows that, but...he still feels the despair, the horror, the annihilation of the cosy space inside where he keeps the love that he shares with Sherlock. It is going to be so hard to rebuild, to find a way to trust Sherlock with his heart again, he did it before when Sherlock came back from the fall but he doesn't know if he has the energy to do it, to put himself though it all again. He curls into himself a little on the bench and whimpers, trying to hold in a new wave of tears. His phone beeps again

*Do you still love me?*

John pictures Sherlock when he left, looking small and defeated, and now this message. He can see in these five words that Sherlock’s heart is breaking too, and John can’t bear it, he can't do that to him. He will find the energy, he will do the work to put himself back together, as long as Sherlock promises never to do this again he can do it. With new resolve he lifts his phone to reply but the battery warning flashes up once more and then it is dead. He almost throws it in frustration. Instead he walks, then runs, he needs to get home, he needs to fix this.

\-----

He fumbles with his keys, eventually unlocks the door, and dashes up the stairs. He is greeted in the doorway by Sherlock with red puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks. They stand apart, neither quite daring to touch.

“You came back!”

John bites his lip and nods, close to tears himself.

Sherlock's voice trembles as he asks “Do you?”

John nods again, a couple of tears tumbling down.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry.” Sherlock is crying in earnest and choking out the words between sobs.

John can’t stand it, he takes Sherlock in his arms and runs his fingers through his hair.

“It's going to take time, to fix this.”

Sherlock’s nods against his shoulder.

“You have to promise, I won’t be able to do this again, promise me you won’t do this again.”

In amongst the wet snivelling sounds John is fairly sure he hears an “I promise”, but he needs better than that. He tips Sherlock's head up with his fingertips  so that they are eye to eye.

“Promise me.”

Sherlock takes a deep breath and says clearly “I promise.” Then tucks his head back onto John's shoulder.

John holds him tight, breathing in his scent, feeling his warmth, alive, breathing, here and solid. “I love you.” He murmurs into Sherlock's curls and presses a gentle kiss into them.

“I love you John.” Sherlock replies quietly into the junction between his shoulder and his neck, and he presses his lips to John's skin.

John smiles, even though part of him still wants to cry. They'll be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, this got quite angsty, I hope you enjoyed it anyway :-)


End file.
